


San Diego, 2010

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard really fucking loves Comic Con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	San Diego, 2010

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as ever, to mrsronweasley for beta work. ILU, bb. ♥

It's the middle of second day of the convention and they're right outside their room and this is really fucking stupid. They should just go _in_ , but Gerard can't help but press Lindsey to the wall, crowd up against her and kiss her right there in the hotel hallway.

Her lips curve under his and she giggles against his mouth. "What's going on?" She squirms against the wall a little bit, not entirely trying to get away. "Come on, Gee, anyone could come by."

"I know." He knows, he _knows_ , but Jesus, he's been half-hard for what feels like hours, just, like, adrenaline and excitement and being on the UA panel and signing autographs afterwards – he was signing for a while, he guesses, but the time flew by. Doing this at Comic Con, it's easy, somehow, really fun, and he hadn't done a signing in ages, anyway. These fans are so excited to see him, not just because of the music, but because of the art, the comic, and they are his _people_.

He and Mikey'd always wanted to go, always talked about it, but they'd never had the money, and when they finally did have the money, they'd never had the _time_.

And the second he'd finished the signing, he'd grabbed Lindsey's hand and tugged her after him, over to the elevator, and up to their room. They have to be back downstairs in less than an hour to meet Mikey and Alicia for dinner; they don't have time to be doing this.

"You're perfect, you know that?" he says now against her lips, before kissing her again, pressing her up against the wall hard enough that she goes up on her toes, gasping in a startled breath before kissing him back. They _need_ to go in the room, he needs to stop this, but he's sliding his thigh between her legs, instead. He can't _help_ it.

"Gerard," Lindsey pants finally, pushing against him, her hands hot against his chest, her thighs still tight around his leg. "Room. _Now_. C'mon."

"Right," he manages, forcing himself to move back a little. "Right, okay, I –"

"C'mon," she says again, tugging him close behind her as she pulls a room card out of her bra. She gets them in on the first try, pushing the door open with her hip and wrapping one hand around Gerard's wrist, dragging him in behind her.

Not that he's very far behind. He's pretty much pressed right up against her. He's already pushing one hand up under her shirt even as she pulls him further into the room, letting the door swing closed firmly behind them.

"Fuck, Gerard," she says breathlessly, turning around and pulling him up against her. "Give a girl a chance to get in the room at least."

"I know," he says against her lips. "I know, I just – I want –" He's hard, pressing up against her thigh as he pulls the t-shirt up and over her head, leaving her in her black lace bra and jeans.

She looks at him, her lips red from kissing, questioningly, but still grinning. "Whatever you want, Gee."

Even after three years of marriage, a kid, more amazing sex than he could ever in his life have imagined (and that included his basement fantasy years), it still stuns him, amazes him, turns him on and leaves him breathless, that she means that. They fit together like nothing else in the world, in so many ways, and right here, right now, ten floors up from the greatest comic book convention in the country, all Gerard wants to do is bend his wife over and fuck her through the _floor_.

"Fuck," he breathes, running his hands up her sides, over the lace of her bra, watching, mesmerized, her breasts moving as her breath gets heavier. "Fuck, I can't even decide what I want to do with you."

"I know what _I_ want you to do with me." Lindsey grabs hold of his hips, walking them backwards till they hit the bed. She sprawls back on the bed, bending to unzip her boots and shove them off along with her socks. She wriggles out of her jeans while he watches. She's wearing faded pink cotton panties, and the lace edging around the top is coming undone. She's grinning up at him from the bed, the hottest thing he's ever seen.

He just stands there, over her, so fucking hard, so fucking ready, wanting to do so many things to her. She pushes herself up on her elbows, spreading her legs and raising an eyebrow, and god, he loves his wife.

Gerard moves, finally, kneeing his way onto the bed as Lindsey hums happily and tugs him down on top of her. He lands between her thighs, gasping as his hard cock in his jeans presses up against her, so fucking good. She hitches her hips up against his, hissing in her breath as she looks up at him. "Gee," she says, a little uneven. "You should fuck me."

He sucks in a breath, looking down at her as she rocks up against him, her bottom lip caught in her teeth, her lipstick smeared. "I – no," he pants, pulling back a little.

"What?" She looks up at him, surprised, tilting her head to one side and blowing the hair out of her eyes.

"No," he says again, sitting back and pressing one hand against the fly of his jeans, his cock hard and aching. "I just – I want –" He tugs on her knees, till she falls flat back against the bed, giggling a little, high and happy. He nudges her till she pushes her way to the top of the bed, digging her heels into the spread to shove herself up. Her hair's messy against the bedspread, and he just loves her so damn much.

"Anything you want," she says again, giggly still. "Just…please? Now."

Gerard feels happy and breathless as he tucks his fingers into the waist of her panties, tugging them down. "I want -" he says, sliding forward. "I just want -" He doesn't have the words, not right now, not for this, for everything he's feeling. "You," he says, his lips against the softness of her belly. "Just – this." He moves further down, his face between her thighs.

Lindsey shifts on the bed, breathing out a quiet moan above him as his lips brush against her. He licks, and god, she tastes so fucking sweet, like salt and sex and _her_. Even after all this time, it makes him a little dizzy, and he shifts down so he's lying flat, his hard cock pressed against the mattress as he tucks his arms under her spread thighs, pulls her closer.

"Gerard," she says from somewhere above him, and she digs her heels into the bed as he licks her, long and firm, straight up the middle. He knows how to do this; he knows how she likes it. Lindsey can't stand teasing, doesn't get off on it, doesn't think it's funny. When Gerard is down there between her legs, she wants his tongue, and she wants it fast and hard – harder than the other girls he's been with, just this side of rough.

She doesn't always get off with his tongue, not every time, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like it – it gets her wet and makes her loud. Her thighs are clenching already, damp and hot around his head, and he keeps going, keeping it steady, long licks that have her moaning so loud above him, he wonders if people can hear it in the hall as they go by. He hopes they can.

He loves this, with her taste and her scent and her hips moving under his hands, just a little bit, keeping up with the rhythm he's set with his tongue. She's there right now, right _there_ , he can feel it in how quickly her breath comes, how her hand tightens in his hair, how tense her belly gets when he lets his fingers brush against it. She's going to come from this, today, and he licks broad strokes up her cunt, again, and again, until she's cursing and biting off moans, clenching her thighs around his ears and soaking his face as she comes.

He stays down there for a while longer, getting her off once more with his tongue, before she even stops shaking from her first orgasm, and once around his fingers, fucking her with them hard and fast, and moving his thumb up over her clit roughly. He watches her face as she tilts her head back against the mattress, her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, her mouth open wide, red lipstick smeared a little bit from kissing, as she shakes and clenches around his fingers and comes again.

"Fuck," she pants up at the ceiling, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. "Fuck, Gerard, I -"

He knees his way up the bed, wiping his face with his left hand, his other one soaked with her. He's so hard it fucking aches, and Lindsey's looking up at him, her eyes hot, a smile hovering around her lips. "Come here," she says, and he does, of course he does.

The pressure of his jeans against his dick is almost too much, and he's sure the worn denim is rough against Lindsey's thighs. She rocks up against him, tugging him down close, and he groans against her lips. He feels half-crazed, like he's being drawn forward with this, like he can't _stop_ , not even if he wanted to.

"Fuck," he mumbles against her mouth. "Fuck, Linds, I fucking need -" He pulls away, rolls over onto his back, digging his sneakers into the bed as he unbuckles his belt, lifts his hips to inch down his jeans.

Lindsey helps him tug them down his thighs, waiting for him to toe off his sneakers before pulling the jeans down and off. She straddles him, her eyes bright and hot. She's biting her lip a little bit as she rocks down against him, and he can't help the sound he makes, it feels so fucking _good_. "Come here," he says, and his voice comes out shot, rough. When he licks his lips, he tastes her. He's got one hand wrapped around his hard cock and she nods jerkily, still breathing hard, and shifts forward.

She's swollen and soaked and he holds his cock for her as she slides down onto him, not slowly – she's ready for this, she wants it, he can tell by the way she looks at him, the way she braces her hands on his chest, her fingers digging in to his t-shirt as she guides him all the way in. She's got her lower lip caught in her teeth, and her hair is a mess, and she's so perfect he can't even breathe right.

He thrusts up into her, he can't help it, and they both groan, and oh, that's it, that's it, she's so fucking hot and wet. She's riding him slowly, tilting forward, her eyes open and watching him, paying attention, panting a little when he moves his hands up to dig into her hips, working the angle. "Yeah," he says, lifting his hips up harder. "Yeah, Linds, just - god, like that."

It's just right and he feels it like bubbles inside him, like his brain is hyper-focused, like his everything has been narrowed down to just this, just the feel of her soft, round hips under his rough hands, her dark eyes as she stares down at him, the endless wave of heat and wet as he pushes up into her again and again. "So fucking good," he says, and it comes out rough and breathless. He barely sounds like himself. "Fuck, just –" It's good, it's hot, it's perfect until it's not. It's not enough.

"Can you," he says, shoving up into her hard, and she gasps, and grinds down against him. "Can you – I want –"

And man, Lindsey is so fucking good, so fucking perfect, and she's his, he's hers, they fit together, they work together, because she knows. All he has to do is ease her up a little, his hands locked around her waist, and she knows what he wants her to do. He's an open fucking book to her – he can feel it, how his face is open and he knows he looks desperate – he _feels_ fucking desperate – and he can't hide it, doesn't really want to.

"How," he says, as she eases herself up and off of him, slowly. "How did I get so fucking lucky?"

"We both did," she says. She says it all the time. He knows that she means it. She means it when they're half-asleep drinking coffee together in the morning, and she means it now as she's moving forward and sliding herself against the length of his cock, soaked with her wetness. She moves herself up and down against it, and it feels so fucking, fucking good – like fucking, but intense in a totally different way.

She keeps moving, rubbing against him even as she arches her back, his hands supporting her at the small of it even though she really doesn't need it. She's sweating – it's beaded on the v of her neck, sliding down between her breasts, and he can feel it under his fingers on her back. She feels damp all over and it's turning him on even harder.

"Fuck," he says, helplessly, because his brain won't offer anything else, as she bends further, her messy hair brushing the bedspread, her back fully arched, leaving her wide-open and obscene, beautiful, in front of him. Her legs are bent on either side of his thighs, and it's an impossible angle for anyone but her. She holds it easily as he awkwardly scrambles from under her, not able to keep his hands away from her even as he's fighting his way to his knees.

He's so fucking hard and he's so fucking close, all of a sudden, like, out-of -control close, feels like he could come if the head of his dick even brushes against her. He's gulping in air as he drags her closer, lifting her hips up as she maintains the arch of her back.

"Please," he says, but he can't find the words, he can hardly get that one word out, even. "Please, just – " He tugs at her thighs, and she unbends easily, letting the arch of her back go with a sigh as she lets one long leg, then the other, unfold over his thighs. He drags her close, kneeling between her legs, so hard, so fucking goddamn hard.

"Yeah," she's panting, the color high in her cheeks, her hair completely destroyed. "Yes, fucking, _yes_."

He slides into her with one thrust, and she gasps and arches again, not the smooth, stage arching, but her back just going up as he goes in deep, his hands on her thighs, her hips, dragging her closer even as he kneels up over her, thrusting in as hard as he can. The angle works for him – keeps him right on the motherfucking edge, killing him with how good it feels.

"Love you," he says, rough, fucking her hard and fast, driving into her deep, steady, so fucking good. "Love you, fucking - _love_ you, Jesus _Christ_." Fuck, fuck, he's so fucking close, it's spiraling around him, and he digs his fingers into her hips and thrusts in hard. He holds her there, both of them shaking, as he comes so hard he feels like his spine could shatter from it.

"Fuck." He can't stop saying it. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_." He can't move yet, he can barely breathe, he's still as deep inside her as he can go, surrounded by her wet warmth. "Augh." It takes all his power to unclench his fingers from her thighs, to let her go, brushing his fingers softly against the red marks he'd made there. "Sorry," he says, his heart thudding in his chest. "I –"

Lindsey's got a smile on her face, as she sags there against the bed, sweaty and spent. "'s good," she says, slurring it just a little. "It's all fucking good."

She winces a little as he pulls out, and he does, too – fuck, he's sore.

She wriggles around till she's right side up on the bed. "Fuck," she grins at him. "I’m gonna be feeling that all day."

"Sorry," he says again, not meaning it, and when she laughs, he has to kiss her. She winds one lazy arm around his neck, holding him close as she kisses back. He can feel her heart thumping, as he runs one hand over her chest, down around the curve of her breast. "I love you," he says, and he means it, he always fucking means it, but this is one of those times when it's coursing through him – he can feel it in every cell of his body. The thing happens where his eyes fill up – it's too much, sometimes, too good, too…everything, and he blinks down at her, laughing a little at himself. He doesn't mind if she sees.

She doesn't laugh at him. She knows everything about him. She gets it.

"I love you, too." She tugs him close, and he presses his face against her chest, breathing in the scent of her, sweat and sex and _her_.

She gets up to go hop in the shower, rinse off, and he eventually gets off the bed, pulls his jeans the right way back out and puts them on. He finds one sneaker wedged under the bed, the other under the desk chair, and he puts them on, too, feeling the pull in his back as he bends over, the soreness of his muscles from fucking his wife.

He wanders into the bathroom – the water's still running, hot, and the mirror's steamed up. "Is your back sore?" he asks, pulling back the curtain a little to peek in at her.

She's standing there with her head tilted back under the spray, looking flushed and gorgeous. The water is running over her curves and fuck, he wants to sketch her like this, capture the clear shimmer of the water, the sleek roundness of her hips. She blinks open her eyes, grins at him as she wiggles a little under the spray. "Nope."

"Fuck you," he sighs, and tugs the curtain closed to keep the heat in on her. He turns to the sink, bends over with a wince to splash some water on his face. He rubs himself off with a rough hotel towel, then uses his hand to clear a spot on the mirror over the sink. It's still a shock to see the yellow-blond hair – he blinks at himself in the cleared circle, as it slowly fills back in with steam. It feels kind of like a clean slate. He can do anything with it that he wants. It doesn’t matter. His life is his own.

The water shuts off, and Lindsey pushes the curtain back with a clatter. "You're sore, babe?" She's grinning at him, just this side of laughter.

He makes a face at her, running a hand through his hair. "You should do me, next time."

"Oh," she says. "I _will_. No worries there." Her grin this time is filthy, wicked, and he gets a shiver up his spine, and his dick jumps a little in his jeans. Like he's eighteen again, not thirty-three. Like he's a kid who doesn't know where he's going, who can't even afford a ticket to San Diego.

He tugs Lindsey close, and she wraps herself around him in a damp, warm hug, all soft skin and long limbs. He presses his lips against her neck, where it curves into her shoulder, against the apple of her cheek, against the corner of her eye.

"Love you," she says, sounding happy and unworried.

"You'd better," he says, and she laughs, and kisses him.

"You smell like me," she says, when she pulls back.

"I know," he says, and swats her ass. "Get some clothes on. Mikey's waiting."

She tucks her hand into his when he holds it out, and tugs him out of the bathroom.

the end


End file.
